


it starts with a spark

by cealesti



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Canon Compliant, Dumbledore's Army, Gen, Gryffindor, One Shot, Past Character Death, Short One Shot, Weasley twins, the concept of weaponizing laughter is amazing, the revolution begins with the kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23793607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cealesti/pseuds/cealesti
Summary: "They are known as troublemakers and they boast the title - they know trouble when they see it, and this woman reeks of it."Fred and George through OotP
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	it starts with a spark

_it starts like this:_

The sky in the Great Hall is dark and cloudy, brewing up a storm when the Ministry first speaks. It echoes off the walls, eerie and unwelcome, coily words delivered in a sickly sweet voice. It’s uncomfortable, it’s _concerning_ and as a malicious gaze wanders the tables the air grows thicker and suffocating. They are known as troublemakers and they boast the title - they know trouble when they see it, and -

_no. that’s not quite right._   
_it starts before._

There is a tension lingering in the Burrow when they go back home for the summer. They can feel it in every weighted glance and every weary frown.  
It doesn’t last long; before they know it they’ve been ushered to spend the rest of holidays in the dark, forgotten home of an escaped convict. The clock marks the hour and although it’s already early in the morning and they’ve been in bed for a long while, none can really sleep. They can’t stop thinking about the whispers and the hushed conversations, light cast dimly along the edges of a closed door, secret meetings and furtive glances; a resistance movement growing in the kitchen of a dark, forgotten home. The stern look of a scared mother who has birthed and raised them and wishes nothing more but to keep them safe from the horrors of war.

_and it starts with a spark._

It was a task doomed from the start; they tasted the ash and copper and rot of war when Harry, horror in his gaze and a body in his arms, first said _“he’s back”_.

_fire always starts with a spark._

“This is really happening.”  
The moonlight glints just enough to illuminate the floorboards and the wall. It’s a sky without stars, a sky full of clouds, and it fits the mood perfectly. Fred isn’t surprised when George speaks, not that night - not in the first night their parents return home late after being gone for hours in mysterious reunions, faces tight and tired and terrified.  
“He’s back.”  
“He’s back.” Fred murmurs in agreement and feels a cold, tight knot of _fear_ in his stomach “We have to help.”  
There’s silence, there’s moonlight, there’s no stars - but something in the air _shifts_.  
“We will.”

_it grows._

Youth has long ago strayed from childhood; that’s a time left between giant chess pieces and hidden chambers and institutionalized injustice. Youth has felt the claws of conflict and the weight of duty fall upon their shoulders more than once and when the stern look of a scared mother turns into the closed door of an Order meeting -  
Ron is _furious_ , clenched fists shaking at his side and Ginny hisses like a cat, the fiery hair they all share curled around her in a halo, like a warrior gone to battle. The shadows under their eyes are dark and cast deep, trauma woven into every single line of their faces and they’ve never looked less like children.  
The twins look at their younger siblings, grab them by the wrists and feel the sting of rejection, the _frustration_ , the helplessness of authority. That new resolve, that spark of defiance flickers and flares and they can’t just sit around and do nothing.  
They are troublemakers, they’re ingenious and resourceful. They’ve learnt to mix your worst fears with the best of jokes and if there’s something they know how to fight with, something they know how to weaponize - it’s laughter.  
The twins are bright and bold and driven; they’re 17 and they’ve invented Extendable Ears.

_and when it spreads?_

The sky in the Great Hall is foreboding, promising thunder when the Ministry first speaks. It echoes of the walls, foreign and _terrifying_ , meaningless words delivered in a deceivingly caring voice. A malicious gaze wanders the tables and there’s enough hatred in the air to choke on. They are known as troublemakers and they boast the title - they know trouble when they see it, and this woman reeks of it.  
The idea was to start slow, to introduce their newer products and work on improvements, to arrange volunteers and pay them back in any way they could. But now, now that there’s a threat, now that they know that jokes are a weapon as much as they are a shield - now there’s no time to waste.  
They post announcements in the Common Room and test products behind Hermione’s reproachful back, for they have no time for rules and norms. The fiery ambition of a lifelong dream _(haven’t they always wished for their own joke shop?)_ , the youthful spark of war _(which they would fight in, no matter what mom said)_ and there was - something else.  
The cold grip of fear; the uneasy, restless feeling that something bad is going to happen every time a bright flash of pink catches the eye.

_there’s nothing you can do to stop it._

Harry is haunted green eyes and challenging words when he stands his ground in the Hog’s Head, looks upon the world like he’s willing to fight it all by himself and there’s something so unbelievably _fierce_ about it - there’s no doubt that this was the sight the Dark Lord was faced with in that graveyard and there’s no doubt that this is what those Death Eaters should fear the most.  
Teens like Harry, like Hermione with a ruthless gleam in her eyes, like Ron and the way he flanks his two best friends, tall and threatening and loyal. Like small, devious Ginny in her floral dresses, like Lee and his refusal to keep quiet.  
Like Fred with a loud voice and George with a keen mind.  
Like the budding strength and cutthroat passion of youth when everything loved is hanging in the balance.

_I must not misbehave._

(every scratch of quill against paper draws blood but the stabbing pain in their hands doesn’t hold a candle to their wounded dignity.  
The cuts don’t look like a sentence anymore, don’t look clean and cruel and _branded_ , the way _"i must not tell lies"_ sits in Harry’s hand. No no, there are too many sentences already there, words thrown on top of each other like a terrible puzzle, malformed and mashed together in agony just because they can.  
She smiles sickly, cup of tea in hand, at every flinch and every wince and doesn’t realise that - for how could she, hateful and cold and _corrupt_ \- there’s no such thing as forgiveness in the house of lions.  
There’s pride and fire and nerve and she’d do well to remember that they’re already painted in red, like blood.  
Like war.)

_I must not damage school property._

(their father was bitten by a snake under Dumbledore’s orders, under Dumbledore’s protection, on duty for Dumbledore’s Order.  
The door to the meetings remains closed and if Fred stays up all night, feverish and furious, putting his pain into paper and writing about prototypes and products and ideas and plans - then George punches the wall of their room, again and again and again until his fist is bloody and the pain is enough to numb the terror permeating his entire being.  
They love being lighthearted, they love being the jokesters lighting up the world with joy. They don’t know how to deal with the frustration, the anger, the _fear_ , bubbling just under their skin  
They have to do _something._ )

_I must not insult a Professor._

(But if there’s something they know how to fight with - it’s laughter)

_Gryffindor bares its teeth._

“You know, George? I’ve always felt our future lies outside the world of academic achieve.”  
“Fred, I’ve been thinking exactly the same thing”

_After seven years, they’ve learnt to do the same._

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this up a couple of years ago for a tumblr challenge and I liked it enough to be posting it here, a whole two/three years later. Let me know what you think!


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